


think i'm gonna win this time

by 1000_directions



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Louis Is Captain America, M/M, Zayn Is Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 04:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14560560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions
Summary: The army told Louis that he was a figurehead, just a symbol, and so Louis became a warrior in spite of them. HYDRA told Louis that he was going to die, but no one tells Louis Tomlinson what to do.Louis is Captain America.





	think i'm gonna win this time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nightwideopen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/gifts).



It’s fucked up, Louis thinks, how he doesn’t get sick, he rarely gets tired, he doesn’t break a sweat running thirteen miles in thirty minutes, he’s yet to meet a confrontation he can’t punch his way out of, he can lift a car with no problem, he crashed a plane outfitted with weapons of mass destruction into the ocean and _survived_ , and he’s ninety-five years old but doesn’t look a day over twenty-five. Yet, even with all that optimization and science and sheer fucking luck, even with some mystical fucking serum flowing through his veins and arteries, no one ever managed to develop a strategy for getting rid of his nightmares. He can bear the physical pain like swatting at a gnat, just a small nuisance he can shoo away, but the emotional pain roils and sublimates and hurts worse than anything, if he lets himself think about it.

So he doesn’t let himself think about it. When he first put on that Captain America costume, he made a commitment to belong to everyone. He doesn’t belong to himself anymore, hasn’t for decades, and if the world needs a superhero, he’ll be that superhero. And what doesn’t kill him will make him stronger. And what _does_ kill him will have to be a much worthier adversary than any he’s come up against so far.

He keeps a tight rein on these emotions during the day, when he has missions and enemy combatants to focus on. The world is a cornucopia of distractions, and there is always another nefarious scheme to foil or a compatriot to rescue or a Nazi to punch. And even in the murky in-between time, there are classic movies to watch and new foods to try and miles and miles to go before he sleeps.

And then when Louis does sleep, he’s on a train through the mountains, and Zayn is his wingman, and they beat the bad guys like they always do, because they’re an indestructible force of good. And then Zayn falls from the train, Zayn falls fast and Louis reacts in slow-motion, like he’s wading through neck-deep water as he makes his way to the door and looks out at Zayn clutching to the side for sixteen agonizing seconds while Louis reaches for him, but they never reach, not in the dreams and not in reality, and he watches Zayn fall to his death, and his screams echo for seventy-five fucking years.

Louis can’t get drunk anymore. He’s tried. Lord knows, he’s tried. He thinks maybe he would have liked that life. He can imagine himself back in the forties, retiring from the service, swaggering into a dance-club and leaving with a different pretty secretary every night and burying his sorrow deep inside of her until he got too old to attract the gals anymore. And then staying at home, getting shit-faced by himself and talking to the shadows on the wall about the good old days. He wonders how long it would have taken before he started hallucinating that Zayn was there. He wonders if that would have been better or worse than being near invincible in the 2000s, a man out of time, with everyone he ever loved dead or missing, not that there’s a difference between the two anymore.

His is a body built for suffering. And he bears it like he bears everything else: efficiently and without complaint.

It’s almost a relief, then, to be awake and fighting. The physical challenge is exhilarating, and this opponent is fierce. The man with the metal arm has a gun, and then he has a knife, and then he steals Louis' shield and uses it against him, and then he has another knife, one weapon after another no matter how many times Louis disarms him. The man has long greasy hair, and Louis hates it, hates him. The man is fast, but Louis can be faster, will have to be faster because this man can _fight_ , and he is going to kill Louis cleanly and efficiently and dispassionately unless Louis kills him first. Death feels close and possible and thrilling, and it taunts him. Louis loves the fight, he _loves_ the fight, and he’s going to beat the shit out of this man with his own metal arm, and the victory will feel better than being drunk and better than sex. He’s filled with such righteousness, and it’s the only thing that intoxicates him anymore.

The army told Louis that he was a figurehead, just a symbol, and so Louis became a warrior in spite of them. HYDRA told Louis that he was going to die, but no one tells Louis Tomlinson what to do.

Louis kicks the man’s feet out from under him, and he goes down heavily and then gets back up again. Relatable, but annoying. He manages to land a glancing blow to the man’s masked face, it’s not a great angle but it’s enough brute force to rip off the man’s mask, and his head spins hard like he’s looking over his own shoulder. The mask clatters to the ground, harmless and forgotten, and the man shakes the hair from his deadened eyes and his face snaps back to front-facing, and--

“Zayn?” Louis manages to choke out. The hair is wrong, the eyes are so wrong, oh god, every part of this is wrong but it’s Zayn, bloodied and beaten and _alive_ in spite of trains and time and Louis’ unforgiving fists, oh _god_.

“Who the hell is Zayn?” Zayn says flatly, and if he wasn’t sure before, he’s sure now. That voice, that unmistakable accent, even buried under the affectless tone, the complete lack of emotion, it’s _Zayn_.

Louis can’t fight him, what the fuck, he could have _killed_ him, he could have lost Zayn all over again without even finding him first, but he’s here, he’s alive, and before Louis can even begin to formulate a plan for dealing with any of this, Zayn is running away, and just like on the train, he disappears fast as anything and Louis is much, much too slow to catch him.

“He was my friend,” Louis says to no one, his eyes fixed on the last point where he saw Zayn, searching for any proof that this is really happening and not a sign that he’s finally cracking up.

 _Then why did you let him die?_ asks the voice in his head that never lets him rest.

“He didn’t die,” Louis whispers. “Somehow, he didn’t die?”

_Didn’t he, though? Was this the Zayn you knew? Would your Zayn have ever hurt you like this? Your Zayn is gone, and this is something new and evil wearing his face._

“Doesn’t matter,” Louis says resolutely, picking up his shield. It’s _Zayn_. Whatever it takes, Louis is going to find him, and he’s going to figure out a way to fix this. Zayn said once that he was with Louis until the end of the line, and if Louis has learned anything these last few years, it’s that endings often have a funny way of stretching out long enough to become beginnings all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> always accepting prompts at [tumblr](http://1000-directions.tumblr.com/ask)


End file.
